


Cruelty of the Chiaroscuro

by UppityBitch



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Artist Klaus, F/M, Smut, Violence, au historical period, badass warrior carroline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:27:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29093472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UppityBitch/pseuds/UppityBitch
Summary: This is a historical human AU - Caroline is the daughter of a powerful lord while Klaus is an artist under their patronage. How far can forgiveness reach when a dark secret and a revenge plot stand in their way?
Relationships: Caroline Forbes/Klaus Mikaelson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 21
Collections: Klaroline Winter Gift Exchange 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Certified_Ceraunophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Certified_Ceraunophile/gifts).



> This a gift for the extraordinarily talented Certified_Ceraunophile for the Klaroline Winter Gift Exchange 2021. I can’t tell you what a thrill it was to get your assignment; you’re one of my favorite people! 
> 
> Warning: Angst. Smut. And did I mention the angst?

“If we say that we have no sin,  
We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us.”   
― Christopher Marlowe, _Dr. Faustus_

* * *

It’s not how she preferred to be smeared in honey. After all, Klaus had shown Caroline such inventive ways with her family’s pantry. However, her training had been quite vigorous before supper and she’d been neglectful with her footwork, causing her side to catch the edge of Captain Saltzman’s blade. She’d managed to wash the wound with vinegar before applying the honey and herb poultice, but the stickiness left her in a foul mood that even Klaus’ sweet kiss to her brow couldn’t remedy. 

Klaus knew her moods intimately, and favored her with an indulgent smile as they walked into the great hall together. _Together_ _— but with a respectful distance_. As an artist under her father’s patronage, he was granted board and provisions to create his masterpieces in the quiet solitude of the Forbes’ estate. And while Lord Forbes was considered a reformer with his peculiar notions regarding the fairer sex, that didn’t mean she and Klaus could openly flaunt their carnal liaisons. _She bore the weight of her familial obligations_.

With a fond smile, she watched the way his hands trembled slightly as he poured the wine for her and her father. _Such an attentive lover_. She was a fortunate woman. Klaus had stayed in their home for several months now, and each day, she felt their connection more keenly. Each time she sank into her lover’s embrace, there was a kindship, an understanding that burned like the sun. _And eventually it would burn them both as she was duty-bound to marry her equal_.

The chamberlain appeared, announcing her father in a lofty voice that always made the jovial lord guffaw at his pompous ways. With a twinkle in his eyes, Lord Forbes toasted the pair of them as Klaus handed him a goblet. “It’s been a fine day; you should’ve abandoned your frivolity and joined the boar hunt!” With a voice tinged in boastful pride, he turned to raise his goblet to the double-bladed battle axe that hung between the crimson and gold tapestries. “While nothing compares to the thrill of besting our good king’s enemies, the boar led us on a merry chase,” he chortled.

Caroline smiled indulgently at her father’s words. She’d fought at his side at the Battle of Wickery Bridge, her heart filled with gladness when he’d captured Ansel of the North, a powerful chieftain who led a rebellion against their king. The traitor’s execution had been swift and delivered with far more mercy than the bloodthirsty barbarian deserved. “Such a mighty warrior,” she told him with a laugh, “you make my own turn with the sword an immovable mountain.”

“Nonsense, dear daughter,” he told her with a benevolent smile, glancing at Klaus as he boasted, “my captain sings your praises as you masterfully wield the weapons of our kinsmen. You are a credit to our ancestors and one day will lead my soldiers with all the vigor and fearlessness that your mother once did; may the gods rest her soul.” 

Earning her father’s praise was no easy task, and to hear such encouragement fall from his lips was like a blessing of the gods. He’d put blades in her hands when she was a youngling, and instilled within her a sacred purpose to lead her kinsmen through valor and honor.

“Lady Caroline is a magnificent warrior. Her gift with blades surpasses even that of the Goddess Nemain,” Klaus offered, making Caroline flush with pleasure.

She bowed her head, blonde curls tangling around the pearl combs in her long plait. Her lover did not recoil from her prowess as a warrior; it was a rare man indeed who celebrated the strength of his woman. _His woman_. That lovely thought filled her with melancholy. Would her father eventually promise her to a man who understood she was his equal? Or, would her future husband balk at her battle scars? Klaus adored her marks and always watched her lessons with Captain Saltzman, loudly professing his admiration as she bested her father’s soldiers. An honorable man. _Who never could be hers_.

“Such a flatterer, kind sir, with your pretty words dancing on a silver tongue.” As soon as Caroline spoke, she blushed furiously, immediately thinking back to earlier when Klaus’ eager exertions had made her tardy for her lessons.

_The straw had been warm and soft, her loosened corset keeping the rough edges from marring her skin. She loved the feel of Klaus’ stubble when he grew too engrossed in his art and misplaced his razor. He bent his curly head, rubbing his cheek along her inner thigh. She sucked in a breath at the sharpness, that unspoken line that hinted at danger. She loved the surrender of it all._

_“Delicate skin shouldn’t be punished so sweetly,” she panted, quivering as she felt the welcome pinch of his stubble over and over. A whinny from one of the horses made them chuckle; the floor planks creaking in protest as some of the horses clomped their hooves at the disturbance._

_Klaus raised his head, favoring her with a devilish smirk as he murmured, “Oh, yes it should.” His touch was firm as he wound the silk from her belt around one ankle and then the other, threading the edges through the iron rings along the wall. “It should be punished quite vigorously, my love.” He whipped his arms outward, pulling the silk taut to spread her open._

_It was positively indecent the way he made her writhe with the gentle brush of a finger, tracing her bare folds before cruelly taking away that warmth. Blue eyes narrowed as Caroline studied his amused grin. Klaus wanted her to beg. Beautiful, infuriating bastard. She mockingly glared at him, stubbornly clamping her lips shut as she shook her head._

_“No begging, hmm,” he said, delivering a playful tap to her little nib. “Permit me to change your mind.”_

_Right bastard that he was, Klaus knew how tightly she was wound. He took his time, tracing along the contours as she barely kept her pitiful whines at bay. He pinched and plucked ever so sweetly, his fine artist’s hands finally wresting a gasp from her that echoed in the stables._

_“Curse you, wretched fiend for making me feel this way, Caroline moaned._

_Klaus seemed oddly defeated as he sighed, “Indeed. Curse us both, my love.” And then he took his tongue to task, coyly flicking along that aching flesh._

_A cascade of shivers pelted her skin and she felt the smooth silk restraining her movements. Restrained — it wasn’t a warrior’s way — but there was something about this man that made her give freely of herself._

_“Look at my feast,” he told her, his tone possessive as he trailed his lips along her folds. The tip of his tongue dipped into her velvet, pulling out her moans. Demanding them. “Louder, let it out,” he commanded. When Klaus’ hands swept her ass up and brought it up to his lips, Caroline let out a shriek. “Good girl,” he cooed, and then rewarded her with the thrust of his tongue._

_Like a starving man he supped, his teeth and tongue a sweet pain that made her tremble and shake as she tipped over into ecstasy._

_“More,” she pleaded, delighting in the way his gray eyes darkened with desire._

_“More of what?”_

_Her back arched at the feel of his hands along her thighs, and Caroline hoarsely demanded, “Take your cock and fuck me. Now.”_

_A low growl escaped his lips as he excitedly tossed away his tunic and tugged at his trousers. Klaus freed his cock just as she tore at her bodice, fingertips rubbing her nipples that had grown swollen from her lover’s attention. “That’s it, my love, pluck at your beautiful breasts,” he praised, stroking his cock slowly, the heat of his gaze boring into her._

_Searing her heart until she welcomed the flames._

_Klaus brushed his palm to her breast, the slick, wet stain of his desire making her sigh pleasurably. His body’s passion belonged to her just as she to him. “A taste,” he whispered, touching a finger to her waiting tongue. The bitter salt was such a delicious distraction; her lover was on her lips as he pushed inside, hard and wet and wanting._

_“Yes,” Caroline hissed, smoothing her hands along the hard planes of his chest. How he split her with his cock, that sensual divide that she craved. His hips rocked into hers, that steady push-pull that made her cry out his name._

_“Fuck me, what a delight it is to tickle your sweet trench,” he purred in her ear, strokes long and hard. With a groan, he jerked away, cock spilling along her belly as he fed it to her waiting mouth. His fingers tapped along her nib, in time to his shallow thrusts as she suckled him._

_With a satisfied grunt, he collapsed against her, the warmth of his skin sinking into hers as the horses snorted lowly, their muscular bodies shifting in their stalls as they settled back down._

_“Why does that always feel like the last time,” Caroline asked softly, watching her lover with hazy eyes as he gently freed her ankles from the silk._

_Klaus watched her carefully, something unreadable flashing in his gray eyes as his voice was filled with melancholy. “Because it could be. Each day brings us closer to an unshakable truth.”_

_She sighed. Of course it would weigh heavily on his mind just as it did hers — her duty to her family to marry well. “What I feel for you is unexpected. The way you’ve blossomed in my heart is a gift. A wonderful, terrible gift because I love you but I also —”_

_“Your allegiance is to your kinsmen,” he finished for her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as he smoothed away her curls. “I understand. Family above all.”_

_“I love you,” she told him fiercely, hating how he seemed so far away in that moment even as their fingers were entwined._

_“As I love you,” he replied just as resolutely._

_An understanding passed between them, something unspoken that beat wild and untamed beneath their breasts. Caroline was certain it was a connection that only would serve to hurt, but one she refused to regret._

“Dearest, is the wine too strong? You’ve grown quite flushed,” her father commented with concern, interrupting her thoughts.

She sputtered mid-drink, clearing her throat as she set aside her goblet. “No, father, I am well.” She cast about her mind for an appropriate subject, and nodded toward Klaus. “You must see Klaus’ latest work. He’s brought to our lands a new technique from the north.”

“Chiaroscuro,” Klaus explained, “it employs light and shadow to provide depth to the elements.” He wistfully added, “The artist is burdened with creating the perfect balance of light and dark. It’s difficult to attain.” 

Rolling her eyes, Caroline replied, “Why are you still going on about your brushstrokes being too heavy-handed?”

“Because they are,” he replied with a curling smile, taking a bite of the roast pheasant.

With a disgruntled harrumph, Lord Forbes took a pinch from the salt dish, scattering it across the parsnips and carrots as he said, “Silly blather. Klaus has a gift only the gods may grant; I wouldn’t suffer a talentless fool under my patronage.”

The scrape of the heavy oak chair as Klaus shifted uncomfortably made Caroline smile. Her father’s praise always seemed to grant him discomfort rather than pleasure. _Ever the temperamental artist_. She favored him with an encouraging nod, knowing that much of his insecurity stemmed from his illegitimacy. While he’d only spoken haltingly of his status as a bastard with an unknown lineage, his fleeting, sorrowful expression spoke volumes about his painful past.

“Have the good grace to accept a compliment, lad,” Lord Forbes lightly admonished, coughing as he took another hearty gulp of wine.

Caroline grew concerned when the troublesome cough continued, and asked, “Father, are you well?”

He waved her off as she started to stand, but the silver filigreed goblet fell from his trembling fingers. Wiping at the sweat of his brow, he said, “It’s just a touch of fever, child, nothing more.” With another hacking cough, he unsteadily rose to his feet, patting the scarlet velvet of his tunic as he joked, “Let us hope it’s not a case of the flux!” Gesturing toward the table piled high with savory meats served with jellies of ripened fruits, he told them, “I’ll take to my bed for the night, but please stay and enjoy the feast.”

Caroline exchanged a grim look with Klaus, unable to give voice to her worries. The gods were cruel; pestilence rose and fell as easily as the wind would change. With a heavy sigh, Caroline excused herself as well, permitting Klaus to give her a chaste kiss to her cheek. She was bewildered by the frantic kiss he impulsively pressed to her palm as she left the great hall, but her thoughts were with her father, praying that the gods would be merciful.

But she knew better than to trust in such foolishness. _Everyone knew the gods were cruel_.

* * *

When her maid shook her awake, Caroline already felt the tears start to form. With a short nod of understanding, Caroline tied the sash of her dressing gown, donning her brocade slippers as she followed her maid to her father’s quarters. The chamberlain met her at the doors, head bowed in mourning.

“Our lord has passed, Lady Caroline,” he murmured sorrowfully.

_It cannot be_. No more races to the forest’s edge, where her father would encourage his horse to greater strides with a high-pitched yipping noise that scared the birds and echoed down to the valley. He’d been incorrigible, employing all manner of trickery to escape whatever silly wager they’d settled upon. _But no more_.

With a sob, Caroline pushed the doors open, the sour-sweet smell of decay assaulting her as she knelt at the raised platform of her father’s bed. _It was too soon for the rot to take hold in this manner_. With trepidation, she raised her eyes to her father’s still form, noting with distaste the blackened flesh that marred his lips. _Poison_. She knew what was expected; the wearisome tasks that would fall to her to see this through. _But not yet_. Instead, she stubbornly knelt at his bedside, clasping his cold hand in hers as she mourned. Her heart bled out as she whimpered, pitiful noises that would shame her kinsmen.

The jagged blade of her hairpin stung as Caroline slashed open her palms, but she pressed on with grim determination as she painted her people’s mark for war on her father’s hands. With shaking fingers, she brushed her blood along one cheek, repeating the symbol as she prepared for what would come next. _Vengeance_.

Feeling her strength return, she stood before the servants, her voice steady as she commanded, “Summon Captain Saltzman.” As she passed by her maid, she whispered urgently, “And fetch me Klaus.” She needed a moment to fall apart in her lover’s arms. _Klaus would set things right_.

The great hall took on a sinister quality as she observed the room by firelight. The servants had cleared away supper, but the discarded dishes remained to be scooped up with the morning wash. Her father’s goblet rested on its side, a burgundy stain soaking into the embroidered linen. She crept closer, taking an experimental sniff and immediately hurled the cup away when the bitter smell flooded her senses. Only belladonna stank of weeds. Her father had been murdered by the cruelest of poisons. _The wretched coward had wanted him to suffe_ r.

At first, she worried that she and Klaus had imbibed the poison, but its dark berries were deceptively sweet, and she hadn’t noticed a marked difference in the taste at supper.

“Lady Forbes,” her maid timidly spoke, “I’m afraid Master Klaus is nowhere to be found. His quarters are empty as well.” She bowed her head, flinching slightly as though awaiting Caroline’s wrath.

_No_. Heart pounding, she commanded, “Leave me. Tell Captain Saltzman I will meet with him shortly.” As her maid gratefully scurried away, Caroline allowed her chaotic thoughts to overtake her. Her father had been poisoned. Klaus was missing. Had enemies breached their home? But why take Klaus? As the only child of a powerful lord, Caroline was a much more valuable hostage. Blue eyes filled with tears, and in her anguish, she spied the goblet she’d thrown. _And she remembered how Klaus’ hands trembled that night as he’d poured her father’s wine._

But Klaus’ hands could’ve trembled for so many reasons — a sudden chill, insecurities of his own station, an involuntary shudder — she refused to condemn her lover this way. There were no falsehoods between them.

An errant draft made the gilt edge of the crimson and gold tapestries flutter, catching her eye as she recalled how proud her mother had been to hang her family’s crest in a place of honor, framing her father’s greatest triumph. The double-bladed battle axe of his enemy had been rightfully won on the battlefield in honorable service to their king. _Ansel of the North had been a worthy foe. In fact, her father had —_.

Caroline paused in her musings, blue eyes growing wide in alarm as she realized the axe was gone. Her father had been poisoned and his murderer had stolen his greatest prize. _By the gods, no!_ She raced down the halls, slippers struggling for purchase along the well-worn stone. Every touch, every stolen kiss, every word from Klaus’ lips echoed in her mind. She knew nothing. And everything. _She merely refused to believe it._

She berated herself for standing outside Klaus’ quarters like a timid child. With a furious hiss, she threw open the doors. A blazing fire merrily burned in the hearth beside his bed. _And his quarters had never felt so cold_. Cupboard drawers were flung open, empty except for the linens he once used to strain pigments. The carved trunk at the foot of his bed had been kicked over to hastily scoop out the rest of his garments and sketchbooks. An enemy who would steal him away wouldn’t take such care with his comfort. 

Klaus hadn’t been taken. _He fled_.

Caroline shrieked, a jagged wail that tore from her throat as she finally accepted the truth. Klaus murdered her father. And then he fled. _Because he knew she would have his blood_. It was the cruelest of betrayals. By the gods, only the blackest of souls could do this! Her father had been a benevolent patron to Klaus; he’d nurtured Klaus’ talent and raised him from obscurity.

How long had he plotted against her? From their first kiss, she recalled how the faintest brush of his lips to her open palm had been a mild flirtation that quickly gave way to pure pleasure in the courtyard. Did he set out to seduce and murder within the space of mere breaths? How he must’ve laughed at the ease with which she granted him her heart.

_Do something_. She needed to feed the fury that made her head pound and her heart sicken. She gathered the ruined brushes and dusty, cracked palette Klaus had left behind, tossing them into the crackling fire. _More_. _Everything must burn_.

The rumpled sheets bore just the faintest outline of Klaus’ form — or at least that’s what her sadistic imagination told her. He used to twist that fine linen along her nude form, meticulously positioning her body to compose his next piece. A piece — that’s all she’d been. She’d debased herself for a man who had murdered her father. Enraged, Caroline ripped them away, wadding the sheets into a messy ball before tossing everything onto the flames. As the embroidered family crest was set ablaze, she let go, her sobs echoing throughout the chamber.

The fire belched out smoke and she took a deep breath, imagining her lungs were filling with fire. _Enough to burn away these wretched memories_. Coughing, she moved to the small alcove, unlatching the shutters to air out the room.

And that was when she saw it.

Perched on the spindly-legged easel was a canvas richly painted in the chiaroscuro style Klaus had spent so much time perfecting. Caroline stood proudly on a battlefield, wielding the warrior’s blades with crow feathers woven into her braids. He had painted her as the Goddess Nemain. _Bastard_. Caroline screeched, lashing out with a foot to snap the easel’s base. As the canvas clattered to the floor, she noticed the back contained Klaus’ writing. 

Ignoring the sudden chill in the air, she gingerly picked up the painting, as though fearful of catching some malady. In his familiar, beautiful copperplate, Klaus wrote:

_Caroline my love,_

_I don’t expect your forgiveness, but my apology is yours all the same._

_And I will go to my grave with your name burned to my breast._

_With a love that endlessly yearns,_

_Klaus, son of Ansel_

Heart racing, Caroline read his words again and again, understanding dawning. Klaus was the bastard son of Ansel of the North, the cursed traitor. _Whom her father had captured and turned over to their king to be executed_. Her blood had slain his.

Her fingers clenched the frame until the wood cracked. Blood boiling, she thought of the satisfaction he must’ve felt, taking the revenge he believed was his divine right. But there was nothing sacred in his act — their gods only knew how to take. She vowed to show this faithless man how a true warrior _takes_. With a ferocious battle cry, Caroline flung the painting into the roaring fire. The flames engulfed Klaus’ meticulous work, and as the canvas curled and blackened, she prepared for war. 

_They called each other ‘my love’._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Angst. Violence. And did I mention the angst?

“What nourishes me, destroys me”   
― Christopher Marlowe, _Dr. Faustus_

* * *

The first thing Caroline set ablaze was the faded coat of arms that hung from the gates of Mikaelson Manor. Running her torch along the cracked edges, she signaled her father’s warriors to the rally point along the southern wall. Once it was revealed that her father’s murder was retaliation for Ansel of the North’s execution, it was obvious who had brought war to her doorstep — The Mikaelsons. Headed by a minor chieftain whose unremarkable demise in battle was eclipsed by rumors of cuckoldry, their manor house had fallen into disrepair.

Rumors of Esther’s affair with Ansel of the North faded into obscurity along with the Mikaelsons’ good name. Once Caroline’s messengers sent word of the depth of the Mikaelsons’ betrayal, she solidified a strategic alliance with the powerful Lockwood clan. Their much-celebrated prowess in battle ensured her swift victory. The first of the Mikaelson clan’s steadfast warriors stormed the crumbling border wall, and with a resounding clang of her blades, she plunged into battle. 

The hulking soldier foolishly performed a backsteppe maneuver that left his calf open to a low swipe with her short blade. His bellow as she sliced into the meat gave Caroline a grim satisfaction, as did running him through with her broadsword. He kicked up dust as fell, bowels spilling near her feet as she chased the two soldiers who attempted to overpower her. Breathless, she swung wide, forcing one to stop his skipping step and lead with a different foot. 

Her other opponent was more practiced in his movements, the high center stance intimidating until she realized he couldn’t wield a blade equally in both hands. Emboldened by the sounds of her father’s army, Caroline grew careless, and her attempt to disarm ended with the loss of her broadsword and a deep wound to her forearm. With a strength she hadn’t expected from such a wiry frame, her opponent had knocked her to the ground, his foul breath against her cheek as he spat, “A position better suited to a lady of your stature.”

Her stomach heaved at his crude threat, and she quickly brought a knee to the seam of his codpiece. From his high-pitched scream, she assumed correctly that he’d been afflicted by the pox. His mewling cries distracted him, and Caroline brought up the edge of her blade underneath his chin, pressing it through until his blood coated her breastplate.

Muttering under her breath, she rolled out from underneath the dying man, leaving him to his fate. Captain Saltzman stuck out an arm, his stoic expression flickering only briefly with relief as he saw the largest of the bloodstains was not her own. Her arm ached where the enemy’s blade tasted flesh, but the bleeding had grown sluggish, so she paid it no further heed. A quick glance along the border wall filled her heart with a grim gladness. She was taught a woman’s place was in war, fighting alongside her soldiers as they drew strength from her. Caroline did not relish the destruction; there was no beauty in the making of war.

The air stank of sweat and bile and the gore of the slain. Men struggled for purchase along the blood-streaked wall; many desperately clutching at their gaping wounds. Her steps were careful, giving wide berth to the scattered ropes of intestines. A severed hand curled open, with fingers outstretched to the sky in supplication to their gods. Only the slow-witted would entreat the gods in such a manner. _The gods only spoke in blood and bone_. 

The thinned ranks of what remained of the once-proud Mikaelson warriors had all but fallen underneath the might of her father’s army. Flanked by the Lockwood men, Caroline stormed the manor house, where she was pleased to see that Esther wisely chose not to run. She received them in the solar, a narrow room at the top of the stairs where she must have watched the ravages of the battle below.

“You dare enter my home with your barbarian horde,” Esther icily stated, not bothering to stand from her high-backed chair.

With a silent nod, Caroline ordered the Lockwood men to leave her side and continue pursuing their enemies. She felt the flames in her belly as she stared at Esther. This was Ansel of the North’s mistress; who had sent Klaus to kill Caroline’s father. “You sent your snake to my home with a message. I’ve delivered my answer,” she said simply, noting with interest how her enemy paled as she took in the blood that streaked Caroline’s skin.

“Do as you will; it matters not. My Ansel has been avenged.” Cackling, her eyes gleamed with madness as she smiled widely.

This was Klaus’ mother. She had nurtured within him a hatred that couldn’t be purged until he’d achieved vengeance. _They were both cowards_. Her lover had been especially cruel in his ambition — to come to her with soft lips and gentle murmurs — a blade to the chest would’ve been more merciful. At this faithless bitch’s urging, Klaus had killed her father. KILLED HER FATHER. KILLED HER FATHER. KILLED. KILLED. KILLED. As the red rage came, Caroline ran her blade messily across Esther’s throat, breathing deeply of the foul poison in her veins.

Wiping the flat of her blade along Esther’s threadbare garments, Caroline stood tall as she proudly wore the blood of her enemy. Tyler suddenly appeared, favored son of the Lockwood clan, looking upon her in approval as he announced, “You’ve slain an enemy of our people — the king will be well-pleased, my lady.” Scowling at the commotion downstairs, he added, “The rest of the wretched Mikaelson progeny have scattered to the winds. But no matter — our warriors will find them and then they will answer to our king.” 

Klaus must be among them, running scared. _Good_.

“Your loyalty to my father and our king is to be commended. I’ll make a final sweep of the rooms and you gather your men downstairs and set everything ablaze.” With a dismissive nod, she moved to the other rooms; the last vestiges of the battle outside had started to fade as her warriors claimed their victory. It was the scraping of stone that caught her attention, and as she rushed to the remaining storeroom, a strangled gasp choked off whatever words she would’ve said.

_Klaus was here_. He stood at what appeared to be a hidden passage, fists curled at his sides. Caroline was struck by his stillness; his body and hers existed in the same space, and yet they’d never been further apart.

How she hated him. _Klaus stole her father’s time_. He stood there with those same gray eyes, so grave and penetrating, dissecting every eyelash and twitch of her cheek. Her secrets were no longer his to know. He took a step forward, and for a fleeting, dreadful moment, she thought he would try to touch her. However, the fury that raged in her expression kept him rooted in his place.

Emotions flickered across his face; too fast for Caroline to register. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. Her palm rested on the hilt of her short blade, a gesture that oddly brought her comfort. She knew who she was. She proudly stood before her ex-lover, wearing his mother’s blood. At battle’s end, Tyler would offer her Esther’s head as a trophy. Perhaps she would take Klaus’ as well. _He took her father’s trophy_. 

“Lady Caroline,” Tyler’s booming voice called out, startling them both. “Do you need assistance?” The heavy fall of his steps could be heard as he started to ascend the stairs.

Caroline and Klaus’ gazes met, and a thousand words that never passed their lips choked them both. Time stood still as their gods mocked them, the bittersweet memories lashing at her heart until she wanted to curl into herself. She finally shouted, “Nothing of interest up here; see to your men in the outbuildings and we’ll send word to our king.”

_They called each other ‘my love’._

* * *

His face was perpetually damp these days. Between the diluted pigments dripping down his brush to his sweat-soaked skin, Klaus questioned whether the gods had favored or punished him with this bountiful commission to paint frescoes of the domed ceiling of one of the largest churches in the land. _Punished_. Spring had long since surrendered to autumn since Caroline had allowed him to escape, and he still was no closer to understanding why. 

Their people weren’t so different; they kept to the code of the gods and honored their kinsmen above all. His mother had taught him of his duty to his true father, and when he’d learned that Lord Forbes had played a role in Ansel’s death, he allowed his heart to be poisoned with the desire for vengeance. He’d gone to the Forbes’ estate filled with dark purpose. Righteous purpose.

_Caroline had been a surprise_. The only child of Lord Forbes possessed a formidable reputation, but Klaus hadn’t realized how thoroughly she would drive him to distraction. While her prowess with the blades rivaled that of the gods, it was her surprisingly beautiful, tender heart that ensnared him body and soul. He felt the weight of his lies every day he remained with Caroline, prolonging that hurt. _They would never be healed_.

The worst part of his revenge was having to hide behind his falsehoods. By pretending to be a simple artist, he was all but invisible to nobility while being privy to their most intimate moments. He saw the genuine affection between Caroline and her father, those tender moments that softened his heart and filled him with wretched despair. _Lord Forbes must die_. His patron had treated him justly — a far too rare an occurrence for a man of his station. Lord Forbes had proven himself to be an honorable man. _A man who sentenced Ansel to death_.

Caroline had returned his vengeance in kind when she slew his mother. He’d yet to fully understand if that reset the balance between them. His mother was a viper of the pit, but she’d been loyal to his true father in the ways that she could. He hadn’t enjoyed the easy affection of kinsmen that he’d observed of the Forbes family, but they’d been his blood nonetheless. No matter his love for Caroline and unexpected affection for her father, it didn’t change his duty to his kinsmen. The guilt was to be expected, and was a festering wound he lived with daily.

_And then Caroline had let him go_. By the gods, how that unexpected gesture haunted him! What did it mean? How could such a thing come to pass? When he’d fled her home, he’d assumed whatever love she’d felt for him had died. _Yet she saved him_. The possibilities were as endless as they were vexing.

With a heavy sigh, Klaus delicately applied more red earth pigment to the fresco decoration. He’d tried to make amends in some way, even though Caroline would never hear of it. Even in this distant land, he’d learned of plots against Caroline and had silenced them through a useful few still loyal to him. _Her enemies were his_.

The plaster layer wasn’t properly smoothed, causing his brush to unevenly glide in places. Muttering to himself about the tradesman’s inferior work, he carefully climbed down from the scaffolding, pausing at the last rung when the heavy bronze doors squeaked open. Klaus raised his head wearily, expecting the friar to pointedly yammer on about his tasteless visions for the fresco design.

Instead, Caroline and Tyler stood before him, stony-faced with hands resting on the hilts of their blades. Caroline had found him. _Clever warrior goddess_.

“You dared to run from us, coward,” Tyler spat, lips curled into a sneer.

Trifling cox-comb, Klaus thought disdainfully, observing the soldier’s puffery. While this foolish upstart’s intentions were clear, it was Caroline’s impassive face that proved inscrutable. She could’ve been sculpted from marble for all the emotion she showed. _Did she truly feel nothing for him?_

His silence angered Tyler, who took another menacing step as he taunted, “The king has granted us special dispensation to kill you where you stand rather than cart you back to our homeland to face his divine judgement.”

Klaus squared his shoulders and leveled his coldest gaze at Tyler. _His life may be forfeit, but he refused to beg_.

It wasn’t until he felt the warm blood on his face that Klaus fully understood what he saw. In one fluid move, Caroline forcefully thrust a blade underneath Tyler’s chin, sending violent sprays of blood across the stone floor.

She casually stepped over Tyler’s dying form and swiped at her gore-splattered cheek. Squinting up at the church’s domed ceiling, her voice contained the hint of a teasing lilt as she told Klaus, “Your brushstrokes are still rather heavy-handed.” They exchanged a tremulous smile. It bore more hope and affection than such bruised hearts had any right to feel. 

_They called each other ‘my love’._


End file.
